Forget to Remember (13 page)

The man, who was the ringleader in the game
and had apparently been winning all the money, looked at Carol,
appraisingly. He took his deck and dealt out four rows: 7-5-3-1. He
gave her an open-hand gesture and a condescending smile. “Go ahead,
sweetheart, move.”

Carol did a quick calculation and realized
she was facing a winning combination. If she moved first, she’d
lose. She looked the man in the eye. He was quite large, probably a
former football player, with a big head and an asymmetric nose, but
she wouldn’t be intimidated. “You go first.”

He stared at her; she stared back. She
figured he was losing face by hesitating. He must have come to the
same conclusion, because he took a quick glance at the cards and
then removed three from the row of five, leaving 7-2-3-1.

Her turn. She didn’t immediately see the
solution. Maybe she was in over her head. She glanced at Rigo and
saw a trusting look in his eyes. She couldn’t let him down, even
for a lousy five dollars.

Don’t panic
, she told herself.
Picture the binary equivalents
. She took a deep breath. She
mentally lined up the binary numbers and saw the answer, just as if
it were written on a piece of paper. She reached out and collected
the whole row of seven, like a blackjack dealer in Vegas scooping
up the cards after a round, and set them aside. Where had the Las
Vegas analogy come from? She doubted she’d ever been there, but, of
course, there were many places in the world where you could play
cards.

That left 2-3-1. She saw a stricken look
flash over the big man’s face before he hid it. He tested her by
removing the single card. She removed one card, making it 2-2.
Whatever he did now, she would take the last card. His buddies
razzed him. Rigo collected the five dollars.

“The broad was lucky. She can’t do it
again.”

He spoke with a sneer. He was definitely
trying to save face. Should she give him a chance? She did some
quick calculations in her head and came up with a plan. “Give me
the cards. I’ll deal out a different layout. Then I’ll start. While
she was talking she reached over the table and picked up the deck.
She dealt five rows: 10-8-6-4-2.

Broken Nose—her name for him—considered it.
His friends were still on his case. Rigo pulled out all the bills
in his wallet and laid them on the table. Adam hesitated for a
moment and then did the same. It looked like they’d put down a
couple of hundred dollars between them. Carol had second thoughts.
She shouldn’t be risking their money like this.

The friends of Broken Nose evidently still
had a little faith in him. They produced enough money to cover the
bet. A pile of bills grew in the middle of the table. It was too
late to back out. Apparently Broken Nose felt the same way. He gave
his open-hand gesture for Carol to make her move.

Carol took two cards from the row of ten,
leaving 8-8-6-4-2. Broken Nose looked at it for a few seconds. He
must have seen something because his shoulders visibly sagged. He
went through the motions, but Carol was sure he knew he was going
to lose from her first move.

She pulled the last card off the table with
not a little trepidation, wondering whether he and his buddies, who
were almost as big as he was, were going to dispute the result.
Rigo and Adam raked the money in somewhat cautiously, as if
wondering the same thing. A couple of the men were grumbling to
Broken Nose, but they didn’t make a move to prevent the money
changing hands.

The second half of the football game
started. The attention of the people at the table was drawn to the
television sets and away from them. Rigo and Adam exchanged looks.
Rigo spoke into Carol’s ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nobody bothered them as they made their way
between the crowded tables to the door of the bar. The cool night
air hit Carol with a gust of relief. They were home free.

Somebody grabbed her arm from behind.
Startled, she uttered a grunt and turned to face Broken Nose. Rigo
and Adam, who were a step ahead of her, whirled around.

Broken Nose held up his hand, palm out.
“Peace. Just a quick word with the little lady.”

The guys must have realized it would be
dangerous to dispute him; they held their ground. Broken Nose spoke
into Carol’s ear, too softly for them to hear.

“You and I can make a lot of money together.
Tonight was peanuts. Call me. I’m free tomorrow night. Don’t worry
about me. I’m gay. I’ll protect you from the others.”

He pressed a card into her hand and
disappeared back into the bar. Carol closed her hand over the card
so the guys wouldn’t see it.

“What was that all about?” Rigo looked
anxious.

“Nothing. He was just congratulating me for
beating him.”

CHAPTER 16

Jake Beard was Broken Nose’s real name. At
least that’s what his card said. Underneath his name it said
“Actor.” A phone number was included, but no address. Curious.

After Rigo left for the restaurant on
Tuesday, Carol went to Facebook on his computer to see if he was a
member. He was, and he apparently didn’t block access to anyone.
His picture showed him wearing a football uniform. His profile
information said he was single and his birthday was April 14. It
didn’t give a year. He lived in Los Angeles and had several hundred
friends.

There were photos of him with his buddies,
most of whom looked like the men he had been with last night,
possibly ex-football players. There were no pictures of women. The
quotes of his friends on the News Feed were bawdy. Beard’s recent
quote was, “Looking for love in all the wrong places.”

Carol Googled “Jake Beard.” She found out he
had played for the Los Angeles Rams in the early nineties. They had
left L.A. after the 1994 season. So he
was
a football
player.

Carol and Rigo had spent much of the day
searching for her on the Internet. Or for Aiko Murakawa. Was she
Aiko? Had she ever been that pretty? Rigo thought so. She wasn’t
sure. Anyway, they had no luck. She felt frustrated. Maybe she
would never find out who she was.

Meanwhile, Ernie and Tina were paying her
way. Rigo and Frances were spending a lot of time on her behalf, in
addition to money. How could she pay them back? She didn’t want to
spend the $5,000 in her bank account. She would need that when she
went to England. She wasn’t sure what she’d do when she got there,
but she wasn’t getting any results here.

Rigo and Adam had each given her twenty
dollars from their winnings last night. She had protested but they
insisted, saying she had earned the money. They still pocketed
enough to give them a tidy profit, even after paying for the beer.
She felt good she’d been able to pay her own way. She needed to do
more of that.

Carol called Beard’s number on her cell
phone and got a message: “Hey, it’s Jake. You know what to do.”

She listened for the beep. “Hi, it’s Carol
from last night.” She gave her cell phone number.

Ten minutes later her cell phone rang.
“Hello.”

“I got us set up for tonight. Where should I
pick you up?”

She recognized his gravelly voice.
“When?”

“ASAP.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Make a call on a billionaire who likes to
gamble.”

“Is it safe?”

“Candy from a baby. Dress sharp. He likes
young chicks.”

“But—”

“He can look at them, but he can’t do
anything about it. He’s in a wheelchair.”

She had a million more questions, but she
realized she wasn’t going to get them answered. Either she
committed or she hung up. She thought fast. “Meet me at…Pacific
Coast Highway and Hawthorne in…an hour.”

“Parking lot by the bank, northeast corner.
Make it forty-five minutes.”

“I’ll try.”

He disconnected. He obviously knew the area.
What should she wear? With her less than extensive wardrobe,
options were limited. She went with a short skirt, light blue
sweater, and a jacket to ward off the cool L.A. evening. Bare legs.
Pantyhose had been out for a number of years. Thank God. She put on
her “dress” shoes—they had two-inch heels—and then decided to wear
her athletic shoes and carry the good ones.

She put on lipstick and fluffed her hair.
The bald spots were barely visible and wouldn’t be noticed by a man
in a wheelchair. She dropped the cell phone in her small purse and
went downstairs. In the kitchen she found a plastic bag in which to
carry her dress shoes.

She tore off a sheet from the pad beside the
phone and wrote, “Going out this evening. Home late. Carol.” She
almost added, “Don’t worry about me,” but then realized that was
exactly what Tina and Ernie would do if they saw that message.

***

Carol got off the bus at PCH, having ridden
it down the hill on Hawthorne. She hadn’t had the exact change.
Even wasting less than a dollar galled her. She’d be glad when she
didn’t have to worry about every penny. She was certain it was
fewer than forty-five minutes since she’d spoken to Beard, but
without a watch she didn’t know what time it was.

She walked the few feet to the parking lot
and scanned the handful of cars there. No sign of Jake Beard. Ha.
She’d beaten him. At least he couldn’t say she wasn’t prompt. Rush
hour traffic was heavy. She waited near the entrance to the bank,
guessing what kind of car he’d be driving.

Five minutes later the longest Cadillac she
was sure she’d ever seen pulled into the parking lot, complete with
tail fins—a dinosaur from a bygone age. The engine rumbled like
Beard’s voice and sounded as if it weren’t sure it could go on.
Beard was behind the wheel. The car stopped in front of Carol.

She pulled open the heavy front door and
scanned the inside. Beard was the only person in the car. That was
probably for the good.

“Hurry up; we’re late.”

Carol hesitated another couple of seconds
and then jumped into the car. The car radio played softly,
something she didn’t recognize. When she had trouble pulling the
door shut, he reached in front of her and closed it with a bang.
His arm brushed against her breasts, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He gave her a quick scan, not including her legs.

“You look okay.”

Just okay?
She assembled the
evidence. Yeah, he was probably gay.

He pulled out onto Hawthorne Boulevard and
headed north in the stop-and-go traffic. The car had bench seats
that had been reupholstered at some point but still showed wear. At
least it had seatbelts. Carol buckled up.

Beard’s graying hair was short, and there
was an old scar on his right cheek. Add that to the broken nose and
large arms and legs. He looked like a football player. He was
wearing a turquoise shirt, that clashed with Carol’s sweater, and
tight jeans. He drove the car carefully. It was obviously his
baby.

It wouldn’t hurt to try to get on his good
side. “Nice car.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Carol thought about the questions she wanted
to ask. “Where are we going?”

“Hollywood Hills. Unfortunately, we can’t
get there from here. Especially at this time of day. We’ll just
have to tough it out.”

“What about a freeway?”

“Freeways are plugged up like a constipated
whore. We’ll head north on Hawthorne for a while, see what happens.
It becomes La Brea at Century. Maybe we’ll cruise over to La
Cienega after a bit.”

“What’s the name of the man we’re going to
see?”

“Sebastian Ault.”

“Never heard of him.”

“You can’t know every billionaire in the
world. He made his money in real estate. Owns a few hundred rundown
apartment buildings in L.A. He’s a sports nut. That’s how I know
him. Used to go to every Rams game before they skipped town. He
fraternized with the players.”

“You said he likes to gamble?”

“He had a suite reserved for him in Vegas
when he was younger. They gave him the royal treatment reserved for
big spenders.”

One question had been nagging at Carol. “Why
do you need me?”

Beard shot a look at her as they waited for
a red light. “He won’t play with me anymore. I guess I took too
much money off him. He’ll play with you, though. Just smile at him.
He’s a sucker for a pretty face.”

“How do we do this?”

“I’ll do the talking. All you have to do is
win.”

“One more question. What kind of money are
we talking about?”

“I need twenty Gs to settle some debts.
We’ll take forty and split fifty-fifty. We don’t want to get too
greedy.” Beard gave a deep-throated laugh. “He might put
you
on his list, too.”

“Forty thousand dollars?” Carol wanted to
make sure she’d heard correctly.

“Yep. Don’t worry. That’s just walking
around money for him. Or wheeling around.” He laughed again.

Carol knew she was in over her head. Whoever
she was before had never done anything like this. She was sure of
it. She wanted to opt out, tell Beard to take her back, but she
knew he wouldn’t go for it. Maybe she could stall.

“I’m hungry.”

“Ault will feed us. He’s got a good
cook.”

She didn’t like Beard or his attitude. She
shrank against the door and tried to disappear. A cell phone
materialized in Beard’s hand. He made a call to Ault’s house and
gave whoever answered an estimated time of arrival.

“What kind of music do you like?”

She couldn’t remember. “Anything.”

He turned up the radio. Some guy was
singing—or rather shouting or rapping—very fast. It was abrasive,
and from what Carol could comprehend of it, obscene in a way that
was abusive toward women.

CHAPTER 17

The white house was the size of a sports
arena, situated on a substantial plot of ground on the top of a
hill. It had an iron-barred fence around it with a gated driveway.
Beard spoke into an intercom, and the twin gates swung open. They
drove up a curving road to the front door and were admitted by a
smiling man wearing a suit.